One Crazy Sunday
by TheseAreSuperOld
Summary: A series of ficlets to let off steam when working on my other stories... Ch 9--Harry and Voldemort face off in the most unlikely of places: the Jerry Springer show! Read and review, thanks!
1. You MERLIN WORSHIPPER!

**One Crazy Sunday**

_A/N: You know the disclaimer drill. This is just something that popped into my head as I was working on "Friends Forever", so I wrote it down. Hope you like! Enjoy!_

Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived-And-Fought-You-Know-Who-Several-Times-After-That, was confused.

But that was understandable. He was Harry Potter, after all. He wasn't much good at… well, anything, really, except for Quidditch and being a giant bonehead. Little did he know Hermione became his friend initially because she took pity on the poor boy who couldn't figure much out on his own.

We digress.

This particular morning, Harry Potter was downright confused. In his four years at Hogwarts, he'd never seen anything like this! It was a Sunday morning and his best friend Ron had rudely awakened him at seven in the morning- Ron! On a Sunday! Grudgingly he had taken a shower like Ron had shrilly demanded, and put on his dress robes. He walked downstairs to the common room, where every Gryffindor was already awake, dressed in their best robes, and poured out of the tower in single file. Bewildered, Harry found Ron and Hermione in line and walked out with them.

"What's going on?" Harry whispered. Hermione gave him an exasperated look.

"Honestly, Harry, are you never going to read _Hogwarts, __A__ History_?" she said condescendingly.

Ron gave him an odd look as well. "You mean you really don't know?" he asked, as the line of students filed into a huge stone building Harry had seen on the grounds but never explored. Harry shook his head, and Ron smiled reverently. "We're worshipping Merlin today, Harry," he said softly, wrapped in the wizarding equivalent of religious rapture.

Harry couldn't help it- he burst out laughing, and a few scared-looking Muggleborns (besides Hermione, of course, because she knew this would happen) tittered nervously. Hermione shushed him as all of Hogwarts (the other Houses hadn't had to wait on a lazy Boy-Who-Needs-His-Sleep, as Malfoy hissed) stared at him angrily.

"You mean you guys actually worship Merlin?" he asked- Harry was a really thick boy, after all; Snape would have said he REALLY took after his proud jerk of a father.

"Of course we do, mate!" Ron responded. "You hear us all the time saying, thank Merlin, Merlin's beard, what in Merlin's name… the Muggles say God and worship Him, and we say Merlin and worship Merlin!"

"Oh, Merlin, Hogwarts has gone crazy," Harry said dramatically, putting his head in his hands.

"No, mate, we're making sure we go to King Arthur's big castle in the sky so we meet Merlin after we die," Ron said in a soothing voice.

Harry rolled his eyes. Hogwarts was definitely going crazy!


	2. Another Reason Why Ron Hates Maroon

**Ron Hates Maroon**

_A/N: Nothing to say really... this one just popped into my head while working on "Payback"... enjoy!_

Ron hated maroon.

Oh, how he hated maroon.

And corned beef. But that wasn't the object of hate today. Just… that hideous, sickening, absolutely horrendous shade of nastiness called maroon.

And he just KNEW that yet again, his Weasley sweater his mum magically knit (while making everyone think she toiled for hours- yeah right! Not with the whole new Gilderoy Lockhart series coming out!) would be…blech… MAROON.

"Aw, I knew it! Maroon _again_…" he groaned, gingerly lifting the sweater as though it was a crusty old sock. Harry looked up, grinning goofily. He held out a bottle-green sweater.

"Your mum's excellent, Ron! She sent me mince pies too!" Harry gloated. Ron looked down at his sweater before making a quick decision.

"Trade you!" he said, his strategic, chess-nerd side exposing itself as he magically switched the letters on the sweaters and stole Harry's, enlarging it to fit himself.

"Hey!" Harry said, but it was too late. The Boy-Who-Lived was now the Boy-Who-Owns-That-Hateful-Maroon-Sweater.

Harry, deciding he would rather go outside and fly around on his broom while avoiding Bludgers (now more than ever, as they tended to knock off IQ points when they hit him in the head- not that he had very many to begin with, as Hermione privately thought) left it at that and grabbed his broom to go outside- after all, as Snape always remarked, Harry had to do a lot of practicing to balance his ego and empty brain on his broom.

Ron pulled the sweater over his fat head and stared pompously at himself in a nearby mirror, puffing out his chest. _Now I can ask Hermione if she'll date me!_ Ron thought to himself. Flexing his muscles (because that's just something guys do to feel hot, even in the wizarding world) he made his way over to Hermione, who was- you guessed it!- hidden behind piles of books, doing "extra studying" over the holidays.

Little did Ron know that Harry had decided he wanted his sweater back, and therefore was back in the common room but out of sight. Ron strolled up to Hermione, pushing a Transfiguration book out of the way, and tried very hard to look suave and debonair.

Hermione looked up and repressed a giggle. Ron ended up looking constipated instead of sexy! She fought to keep the smile off of her face and simply looked up expectantly, not trusting herself to speak.

Ron smoothed his hair back like he was hot stuff and said, "Hermione, seeing as how you're so beautiful and I'm-let's face it- Merlin's gift to women, I was hoping we could go to Hogsmeade together."

Hermione gaped at Ron stupidly (and Ron savored the moment, seeing as how Hermione almost never came across as stupid) and just as she opened her mouth to respond, he heard, "GIMME BACK MY SWEATER!"

Harry leapt from behind a couch straight for Ron, his hands outstretched like a crude version of Superman flying. However, Harry fell short and instead of tackling Ron like he meant to (he really must get his glasses checked), he grabbed a fistful of Ron's pants and boxers, effectively baring his nads for Hermione.

Hermione, having always been a curious person, took one look and burst out laughing. She clutched her stomach as Ron hurriedly pulled his shorts up, his face beet red.

"Merlin's…gift… it's a weeny peeny!" she choked out, clutching the table for support. Ron angrily ripped off the sweater and threw it at Harry, who was visibly trying very hard not to laugh at the size- well, rather, the lack of- Ron's family jewels. Lavender looked at Ron pityingly, then turned to Hermione with an evil grin on her face.

"Why do you think I called him Won-Won? There's no way to even pretend that thing's a normal size!" she said, joining in the laughter. Ron, who was so red he almost gave off steam, turned purple at that and stalked away a few paces.

"Hey Ron! You forgot something!" Harry called. Ron turned to face Harry, only to get hit in the face with his maroon sweater. "Don't ever take my sweater again, Won-Won!"

Positively fuming, Ron stalked upstairs to hide out in the dormitory for the day. He looked disgustedly at the sweater in his hands.

Oh, how he hated maroon.


	3. Getting Voldemort Drunk

**Getting Voldemort Drunk**

_A/N: HAH I got this idea working on Payback... tell me what you think!_

Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Really-Didn't-Know-Any-Better, turned the worn leathery journal over and over in his hands, still convinced that the name T.M. Riddle was somehow familiar to him.

"Oi, Harry! C'mere!" called Fred Weasley, his arms laden down with pilfered goods. "George and I snuck into the Three Broomsticks and got loads of butterbeer and firewhiskey! It's time to celebrate the steal!" The brothers went downstairs, crowing about their success to the whole of Gryffindor tower.

Thanks in part to the twins' artful methods, the Tower was devoid of any stuck-up do-gooders besides Hermione, who had had to learn to loosen up around Harry and Ron anyway. Soon the common room was full of people looking for a good time. The twins passed around the goods, careful to keep the firewhiskey for the older students. As Harry came up front to grab himself and Ron and Hermione some butterbeer, stuffing the diary into his pocket, the twins smiled deviously and handed him a large decanter of firewhiskey instead, conjuring three glasses out of midair.

"Here," George said.

"You totally deserve it, fighting You-Know-Who and all. Just don't tell Mum," Fred added.

Excited, he grabbed Ron and Hermione and dragged them down to the Room of Requirement, bags and everything (Hermione was very studious, thank you very much).

"Really, Harry, what's the meaning of this?" Hermione huffed, her cheeks red and her hair frizzy (Ron thought Hermione must not be so smart after all-Sleekeasy's would take care of that) from running.

Harry grinned evilly and pulled out the decanter of firewhiskey and three glasses (apparently the Boy-Who-Plays-Fetch-Midair was good at not breaking glass while running), setting them down on a table.

Ron's face lit up like a little kid's on Christmas and he took a giant swig. Ron's ingenuity (code for: stupidity) showed itself, leaving Ron coughing and spluttering from the drink.

"Hey, leave some for me!" Harry said, trying to wrestle the bottle from Ron's pale and gangly hands ('gingers are so weird,' Hermione thought) without much success. The journal fell out of his pocket, landing open on a blank page.

Hermione couldn't stand it. "Harry, you retard, why the bloody hell are you carrying that thing around?" she practically growled.

Surprised, Ron and Harry stopped fighting. Ron dropped the jug of firewhiskey, drenching the diary in the alcohol.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione couldn't believe it when the journal not only soaked up the spill… words appeared on the page from nowhere!

_I say, __firewhiskey's__ much stronger than I can remember… hey! Bonehead who got me drunk! Thanks! giggle I'm so __drrrruuuuuuunnnnnkkkkkk__…………… __fuuuuuuuuuuuck_

The three looked at each other helplessly. What was going on?

_Hey! Somebody __call__ that redheaded chick, I want to make her write about touching herself…. __Duuuude__ I am __blowed__GONE.__ Wow._

Ron purpled as he realized his sister was the only red headed girl in Hogwarts (Weasleys were the only ones with hair red enough to call red, in his opinion) so the diary must be talking about Ginny.

_Whoa man, I didn't know I'd get __druuuuunk__ as a bloody __Horcrux__! I am so WASTED! Uh oh…._

Hermione (who knew everything there was to know about everything, of course)recognized Horcruxes as Dark objects and grabbed the diary, running towards Dumbledore's office with the boys close behind. When they arrived, she threw the diary down, open, and said, "This thing said it's a Horcrux!"

_I'm fucked up. Why did I say that? Why? I knew someone was out there, reading me, and I just go ahead and say all that? What is wrong with me?_

"Apparently, Tom went crazy much younger than I supposed," Dumbledore commented, peering at the journal over his half-moon spectacles. "For our intents and purposes, since you say you haven't written back, Tom is talking to himself… oh, and Tom is Voldemort's real name," he explained.

"Now what?" Ron asked.

"Now, this thing dies!" Dumbledore cackled, sending a controlled Fiendfyre blast at the journal. The journal in question screamed in pain, gushing out what seemed like a puddle of ink and an ocean of firewhiskey.

"NO! FIREWHISKEY I LOVE YOU!" cried a disembodied voice from deep within the diary.

Hermione and Ron hugged each other tearfully (although Ron tried a quick boob-grab, Hermione said nothing) and Harry, the Boy-Who-Is-Frightfully-Dense, completely missed the importance of what just happened and skipped out to the Quidditch pitch to play.

After all, all he cared about was the fact that he could say he's seen Voldemort drunk.


	4. Umbridge plus Love Potion equals OH NO!

**Umbridge + Love Potion OH NO!**

_A/N: A little more serious than I'd like... but I couldn't let go of this idea! Read and review please!_

Romilda Vane was not used to being ignored.

She looked at herself in the mirror critically, and could not find anything wrong. Long, shiny, dark hair… check. Chocolate brown eyes… check. A figure suggesting she was older than thirteen… check!

"Why doesn't Harry like me?" she growled furiously, putting her hairbrush down. Apparently, shiny hair just wasn't enough for the Totally-Hot-Boy-Who-Should-Date-Romilda-Vane.

"Harry just doesn't know what he's missing! I'll show him…" she muttered mutinously. No one spurns Romilda Vane! NO ONE! She'd settled for flirting by subtle means long enough… she hadn't planned on being so proactive until next year, but desperate times call for desperate measures…. Especially when the boy in question is the Boy-Who-Had-A-Really-Thick-Skull (Professor Snape would have almost smiled at Romilda's thoughts… almost).

With a Slytherin-like smile, Romilda decided to try her hand at brewing love potion and retreated to her bed to plan her revenge.

A week later, the rather weak love potion was simmering satisfactorily in her dorm, well-hidden, and Romilda was simply searching for the perfect time to drug Harry with it. Lost in her thoughts, she walked straight into a person and fell backward.

"Do look where you are going next time, Miss Vane!" said a very prissy Professor Umbridge, her horridly pink outfit hurting Romilda's eyes. Lowering her eyes (her mom said acting very modest would keep the horrid witch away) Romilda nodded and moved out of the way.

Professor Umbridge huffed slightly and walked off. An evil smile spread slowly over Romilda's face as she noticed a long grey hair on her robes.

As luck would have it, Romilda made it up to Gryffindor tower just as Harry walked in, moaning about his detention with Umbridge in twenty minutes. Harry grabbed the spiked gillywater she offered without even looking up (Romilda wondered if it would be that easy for a Death Eater to kill him, honestly). Her eyes narrowed as Harry's went slightly out of focus and a look of absolute fondness overtook his features.

"I have to go," Harry said, making his way to the door. Hermione pursed her lips and Ron sighed empathetically ('emotional range of a teaspoon my ass' Ron thought) and Harry walked out, curiously suppressing a grin.

Professor Umbridge awaited Harry Potter's arrival eagerly. She fingered the Blood Quill she would have him use, and prided herself on the evilness of the detention. Someone knocked twice and she called out, "Enter."

And who should come in but-

Harry Potter in a flamenco suit??? Umbridge stared, thinking her eyes were lying, but no! Harry Potter was dressed in a wildly flamboyant flamenco dancing outfit, posing hilariously with a rose between his teeth! He stole a treasured cat plate off the wall and Transfigured it into a wizarding wireless radio, finding a flamenco station and turning up the volume.

He strutted up to her desk, shaking his hips and waving his arms around skillfully. He sidled around the back and dropped to one knee next to Umbridge's chair, holding the rose out.

"Dance with me, my love!" Harry proclaimed. "Dance with me, darling!"

Umbridge was speechless. After a moment's hesitation, Harry pulled her to her feet and Charmed her robes into a flamenco dress (had Harry not been drugged, he would have gagged at the rolls of fat straining the material), leading her onto the floor.

"Tarantallegra!" he shouted, pointing the wand at her feet. She started dancing and Harry grinned, taking her in his arms and leading her around the floor. "Yes, yes! I knew you would dance with me! Tell me you love me, Professor!"

"MISTER POTTER! FINITE INCANTATEM!" Professor Umbridge roared. The outfits changed back into robes and the radio into a mewing plate. Who would have guessed Harry Potter was harboring a secret deep affection for Umbridge???? "What is the meaning of this??"

"I LOVE YOU!" Harry said, a hand over his heart. "I will tell the world there is no such thing as Lord Voldemort if you will only kiss me! Kiss me so that I may die a happy man!"

Professor Umbridge considered her options. Despite his scrawny appearance, Harry _was_ a looker… and no doubt her popularity points would multiply! Plus she'd ensure the brat kept him mouth shut…

"Alright then, Potter, if that's what you want…" Harry strode forward eagerly, licking his lips. Down in the dungeons, Snape gagged reflexively for seemingly no reason as Harry's overenthused mind broadcasted his intentions, and Dumbledore shrugged up in his office, thinking he was merely going senile(Snape would have agreed on that score).

Closer and closer they got… Harry's lips met Professor Umbridge's at the exact moment the potion wore off. His eyes flew wide and he threw himself back, gagging. "Oh Merlin! What the bloody hell??" Umbridge paid no heed, her lips still pursed.

"Oh… kiss me again, Potter!" she said, leaning in once more.

Harry tore out of the room, screaming. Romilda, who was hiding behind a nearby suit of armor, smiled evilly.

"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned," she quoted cryptically.


	5. A Baby For Bella

**A Baby For Bella**

_A/N: HaHA! Got this idea whilst reading a story that my dumb self can't remember the title of... ah, well. I'm sure it's in my C2 archive. Oh yes, I created one; The Must Read Collection! Check it out, I guarantee there's something for everyone, and I'm open to suggestions if you think a certain one should be in there. ANYWAY... I expect I'll be posting another chapter on this soon! The plot bunny bit me! Read and review!_

Bellatrix Lestrange was lonely.

Her "husband," as she'd started thinking of him, went gay on her during their stint in Azkaban, and it was all Moody's fault. The one-legged Auror certainly had no scruples about getting his information one way or another. It was just too bad for everyone involved that instead of breaking Rodolphus, Moody had simply made the man aware of his… homosexual tendencies. Now Rodolphus would cavort around the Dark Lord's manor pinching the men's bottoms and coyly asking for a spanking if they howled in indignation.

"My Lord, I want a baby," Bellatrix told the Dark Lord one chipper morning. He glared at a nearby songbird and wandlessly broke its neck before turning to his most faithful, admittedly sensual follower.

As the songbird dropped to the barren ground with a strangled _"EEP"_ the Dark Lord turned to Bellatrix and wished his body was human enough to grant her wish… while, of course, getting a little dessert he hadn't had in awhile. His nefarious mind remembered that Harry Potter, however, was fully human and slept very close to the tower window. If he could sneak a hawk or owl past the wards and get it into the tower, maybe the Dark Lord could secure some… err, babymaking juice… while the boy slept. After all, the boy was highly susceptible in his dreams, and a little help from implanted visions could go a long way.

He smiled. "I will grant your wish, dear Bella… and we will use Potter for that cause. Imagine the power of that offspring," he hissed. Bellatrix beamed like she hadn't in years, promptly causing a passing Death Eater to faint from shock.

"Oh, thank you, my Lord!" Bellatrix ran off to brew a fertility potion for herself. Lord Voldemort smiled evilly, stroking an imaginary bread half as long as Dumbledore's (he'd never admit it, but he was jealous of the older wizard's hirsuteness).

Two days later, Lord Voldemort had devised a plan and called a meeting to gloat, careful to shield his mind against the link to that dratted Boy-Who-Only-Lived-Because-Of-That-Dirty-Mudblood-Wanna-Be-Witch. "My loyal Death Eaters, I am going to reward Bellatrix tonight. My most faithful follower has asked me for a child, and I have developed a plan. It is an evil, nefarious, despicable, wicked, horrid, sinful, malevolent, spiteful, malicious-"

"MY LORD!" Everyone stared at Malfoy in fear. The Dark Lord raised a sparse eyebrow and he cowered. "Please, my lord, tell us your plan! We are… er… trembling in anticipation!"

The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed. "Is that the only reason you tremble, Malfoy?" He smiled wrathfully as he stalked around Lucius Malfoy. "Is it possible that poor little Malfoy is… dare I say it… scared of me?" The ring of Death Eaters tittered nervously, uncertain.

"Is poor widdle Malfoy scawed? Does Malfoy need his blankie?" Bellatrix taunted softly. Lord Voldemort smiled a genuine smile (which made several Death Eaters faint dead away from surprise) as Malfoy cowered into a smaller and smaller ball, eventually even sucking his thumb to raucous jeering laughter.

"Hey look, he's sucking his thumb!" cried Pettigrew, pointing his middle finger at the disgraced pureblood- AFTER everyone had stopped laughing. Rosier cuffed Pettigrew hard around his head.

"We know, you idiot!"

"SO ANYWAY," Lord Voldemort said loudly, making everyone fall silent, "I am going to make dear Bella a mother… of Harry Potter's child!"

The Death Eaters were stunned for a moment, before the crowd began their congratulations and speculations. Severus Snape, however, looked as though he'd swallowed a particularly sour lemon.

"I suppose my assistance will be needed, my Lord?" Severus screwed his eyes shut tightly, afraid of the answer, as Lucius finally realized the attention was off of him and he'd be better off standing.

"Yes. You will slip the Potter brat a mild sleeping potion, drag him into an unused classroom or other private place, and alert me. Then I will, across our most interesting link, send him… ah… good dreams… and you will collect the… evidence, shall we say… of such dreams. Then we'll use a Muggle method to get Bella pregnant. Imagine the power of such progeny!" Lord Voldemort fell silent, enraptured by the idea.

All the Death Eaters began to congratulate Bellatrix on her impending pregnancy and Lord Voldemort for his ingenuity. As the crowd died down, Pettigrew shouted, "Whoa! Think of how powerful that baby will be!" Again, Rosier cuffed Pettigrew, this time hard enough to knock the fat man to the ground like a bowling pin.

"We KNOW, you idiot!"

&&&&

Severus screwed his face up in disgust, glad that he could use magic to collect what was needed as the idiotic Boy-Who-Might-Be-Gay-Because-It-Took-An-Image-Of-A-Dude-To-Finish snored loudly in an unused dungeon. Severus turned to leave, and turned around with an evil smile on his face. He cast a nightmare hex on the boy, which would contain images of a naked Bella, and kicked the boy in contempt before abandoning him to sleep off the drug for another two hours. No doubt the rest of the Trio would be terrified when they realized their Boy-Who-Lived-To-Make-Life-Unbearable was missing.

&&&&

**One Year Later**

"Bellatrix Lestrange! How dare you steal someone's child and bring it into battle!" Harry shouted, facing off against her and a black-haired baby in a barren woody area. The sounds of battle filled his ears as she smiled wickedly.

"This is your child, Potter!" Bellatrix smirked triumphantly as she turned the baby around to face him. "Yours- and mine! And I'm raising him Dark! MWAHAHAHAHA!!!!" She raised the baby triumphantly over her head as Harry realized it must be true and fell to his knees, dreading having to kill his own child someday.

"NOOOOO!!" he cried, pounding the earth with his fists. The Death Eaters managed to finally Disarm and Bind Hermione and Ron and joined Bellatrix's malevolent laughter.

Pettigrew fired off a bunch of spells in celebration- his aim was, of course, terrible- and he hit the child still raised over Bella's head. She howled in anger and grief as the baby disappeared with a squeal, and everyone was stunned.

"YOU IDIOT! WHAT DID YOU DO?" Bellatrix howled, restrained by Wilkes and Avery.

Pettigrew stopped firing random spells and looked around. "Hey, the baby's gone!"

Rosier growled and punched him hard. "WE KNOW, YOU IDIOT!"

Noticing the indignant looks, Pettigrew turned into a rat and scampered away. Rosier Transfigured a nearby rock into a cat and sent it off after the rat. Moments later, everyone heard a loud _SQUEAK!_ The alley cat came back with Wormtail's grimy tail sticking out of its mouth, triumph in its eyes.

"Harry, you slept with Bellatrix?" Hermione asked, her disgust written plainly on her face.

"HELL NO! I had nightmares about her naked through… that was disgusting enough for me. Strangely, that happened right after… err… the good dreams," he answered lamely.

"The day you were sleeping in the dungeons?" Hermione asked. Harry nodded and instantly (as usual…) Hermione knew exactly what had happened. "Good thing Pettigrew took care of that for us."

Harry nodded but frowned. "I wanted to meet my son," he said sadly. Ron and Hermione stared. The Order appeared and the Death Eaters panicked and left, except for a mad Bella, who ended up captured while still screaming her head off about the child. The Trio went back to Hogwarts, but not before Ron cuffed Harry as hard as he could.

"ARE YOU MENTAL? THAT KID'S MUM WAS BELLA!"

"It was still a baby." Another hard cuff knocked Harry to the ground and he sighed. When would he be allowed any chance at a normal life? He shrugged. At least, if his concerns from that fateful night were true (of course, he never told Ron that naked _wizards_ had danced around in his strange dream along with witches), the magical world had orphanages he could adopt from. Two guys don't make a baby, after all.

OR CAN THEY?


	6. A Baby For SNAPE?

**A Baby for... SNAPE???**

_A/N: Oh dear lord! I'm so evil! HaHA! Review please! Got any ideas for a chapter? Let me know!_

Two months after the baby scare with Bellatrix Lestrange, Harry Potter found himself brewing a fertility potion so strong it was commonly known as KUFS (Knocked Up For Sure) during Double Potions with the Slytherins.

"Don't you DARE play any games this period, you insolent maggots! I will ensure that anyone who manages to impregnate themselves using this potion is not allowed access to an Abortive Draught from Pomfrey!" Snape stalked around the room glaring at everyone, especially Pansy Parkinson, whose eyes had glittered cunningly at the start of class.

Malfoy, however, had different plans. Just as his godfather (who really, desperately needed some shampoo) turned away, he lobbed a small version of Filibuster's fireworks through the air straight into Harry Potter's cauldron.

_BOOM!_ The cauldron exploded, catching Harry full in the face as he was laughing wide-mouthed at one of Ron's stupid jokes. Hermione, thankfully, had turned just in time to help Neville salvage his pathetic attempt (no doubt it would render someone infertile, rather than assuring a pregnancy) and only her hair had been soaked in the stuff.

Snape stalked over furiously, his robes billowing out behind him. Harry gulped, inadvertently swallowing even more of the potion, and smiled goofily as the image of a large greased up bat with a big nose materialized in his mind's eye.

"YOU IMBECILE! WHAT ARE YOU SMILING ABOUT? _DETENTION!_" Snape roared. He Vanished the mess and ordered the class out, spitting in rage. "Stay behind, Potter."

Snape conjured a glass of strong tea and shoved it into Harry's hands. "That'll take the taste out," he growled, imagining snapping the pencil-thin neck of the scrawny Boy-Who-Never-Pays-Attention in front of him. "Don't think that because you are a man you have no reason to fear, Potter. I don't know how far the Muggles have gotten in their ridiculous scientific notions, but in the Wizarding world male pregnancy is possible. Most of the time you need an entire ritual, but I suspect you swallowed enough of the KUFS potion undiluted for you to easily become pregnant."

Harry snorted as though he knew everything. "Yeah, right; so I'd pass said baby through my penis?"

"You don't believe me, Potter?" Snape leaned in dangerously and the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Give-Superiors-Peptic-Ulcers smirked.

"You're just trying to scare me," the arrogant Potter kid said. Snape smirked even more evilly.

_"__Ingravesco__!"_ A thin silvery ribbon-like thing shot out of Snape's nether regions and shot into an astounded Harry's lower abdomen. He pushed away from the table with a growl.

"What the fuck did you do to me?" Harry roared. Snape smirked.

"I have more boys in my line than girls… I suggest you and your little Gryffindor friends buy blue baby necessities." With that, Snape strode into his office, barely avoiding a jar of cockroaches thrown at his head.

&&&&

Harry groaned. The first six months had been pure hell. First the morning sickness, which put him off food almost entirely (and you know men MUST have their food… torture!), then the back pain, neck pain, swollen ankles, mood swings… his man-chest looked more ladylike these days, have swelled with milk! He'd even caught RON, of all people, staring at his jugs! Luckily the last trimester had been easier on him, and even though he still had bouts of morning sickness, he didn't puke at the first odd smell anymore.

Walking to class was almost unbearable, what with the extra weight and the looks he got, especially from the Muggleborn. McGonagoll had relented and allowed him to use an adult-sized toy broom that rose enough for him to ride comfortably to classes.

"How do women do this?" Harry complained to Hermione, refusing his pumpkin juice in favor of ginger ale, and the rich breakfast in front of him for crackers and toast. He downed the thrice-daily nutritive potion Madam Pomfrey had demanded he drink.

Hermione smirked. "We're strong," she replied, ladling extra maple syrup on her pancakes just to watch Harry turn green. "We're more than knockers and bums, eh?"

Harry nodded grimly, sipping his ginger ale. "Guess I should thank the greasy sit for what he did, eh? Making me carry his child and all…"

Ron gaped at him, just like he mindlessly did every time Harry mentioned the father of the child. "I can't believe they didn't make you get rid of it, mate! Having a teacher's kid!"

Suddenly Harry felt as though he pissed himself. He clutched Hermione for support. "I think my water broke… either that or I pissed myself without knowing I needed to piss."

Ron looked revulsed. "Gross! Don't piss yourself around me!"

Hermione lost her temper and smacked Ron hard, though not as hard as he deserved, as she dragged Harry to Madam Pomfrey's.

"I don't have to push, do I?" Harry asked, breaking out in a sweat. Snape strode in, sneering.

"No, you idiot! Another spell is needed. I cant believe such a dunderhead as yourself managed to carry a child to term without miscarrying it," Snape sneered, though he looked excited at the prospect of being a father. _"__Parvulus__vindico__!"_

Harry's gravid stomach deflated suddenly as a pink, blood-covered baby appeared in the arms of the dour Potions Master. Madam Pomfrey Vanished the placenta inside Harry and Scourgifyed the crying baby girl, swaddling her and putting her back in Snape's arms.

"Congratulations!" she announced.

"I'M A MOMMY!" Harry wailed happily. Hermione began to cry tears of joy and Ron ran to the bathroom to puke as Harry's man-titties began leaking in response to Hermione's bawling.

What do you know… men CAN make babies after all.


	7. The Dark Lord Ehwaz

**The Dark Lord Ehwaz**

_A/N: Yet another installment! Anyone have any ideas? I'm open to them :) R&R!_

Ron very much hated being ignored.

He hated this almost as much as corned beef.

But nothing could EVER touch the magnitude of the hatred he felt for (here he shuddered) _maroon_.

He absently pushed away the first few thoughts he'd been able to string together this week in his thick head, telling himself that the putrid-looking shade of ugly was not the object of hate today.

It was being ignored.

Harry was the Boy-Who-Lived, Hermione was smart and a know-it-all, Fred and George were popular and funny, Percy had been the perfect example of a model student, Bill was a curse-breaker, Charlie worked with dragons, and Ginny was not only the baby in the family— she was the first Weasley girl in _ages_.

SO not fair.

Ron wasn't really anything. He was a mediocre person, and that had to change! People needed to notice him for something _he_ did, not in connection with someone else!

And Harry was just much too famous for his own good.

All of a sudden, Ron was struck with an idea (he looked around for a Bludger at first; ideas came so rarely he really couldn't remember what they felt like when he got one) — he would become a Dark Lord!

"All hail the Dark Lord Weasley! No… the Dark Lord Ron! That's stupid… the Dark Lord…" Ron looked around the Common Room, his eyes falling upon the open Ancient Runes textbook Hermione had left when grabbing a bite from the kitchens. "That's it! The Dark Lord Ehwaz!"

Clutching his wand tightly, Ron ran off to the Room of Requirement to put his plan into action.

* * *

A month later, Ron—oh, he's glaring, watch it— the Dark Lord Ehwaz was ready to make his debut near the lake, where Harry and Hermione were supposed to "study" that night. He snorted. Did Harry really think he was that thick! That evil Boy-Who-Lived was stealing his Hermione!

He snuck out onto the castle grounds, darting behind trees and humming a tune the Room of Requirement would play when he was practicing stealth (ironically, it was some Muggle movie theme song— some moving picture about an impossible mission, whatever).

"There you go, Harry! You've got it!" Ron scowled at the obvious happiness in Hermione's voice— she would certainly learn to respect the Dark Lord Ehwaz!

Finally Ron couldn't stand listening to his two supposedly–best–friends _flirt_ like that, and he jumped out from behind a nearby tree with his wand drawn. Ron bellowed, "Turn around and face the Dark Lord Ehwaz!"

Startled, Harry and Hermione whipped around so fast both of them were hit by Hermione's bush-like hair. Harry took one good look at the so–called "Dark Lord" and dropped his wand, laughing so hard he sank to his knees. Hermione fought hard to keep the huge grin off of her face, her wand shaking from silent laughter.

There stood a masked teenager with a crackly, puberty-ravaged voice, in a stained and threadbare black cloak, wearing the Greek comedy/tragedy theater mask, with the comedy one currently over the boy's face, and angry-looking eyebrows inked onto the flimsy double mask. A ratty pair of combat boots completed the picture, sticking out from underneath the too-short cloak.

Harry was still laughing. "He thinks—he thinks he's a _Dark Lord!_" he wheezed out, clutching his ribs and massaging them.

The Dark Lord Ehwaz glared, pulling the tragedy mask over his face. "Shut up, filth! How dare you touch her! You should wash your hands before touching such beauty!" This time, Hermione too dissolved into giggles.

"He sounds like my mum! 'Wash your hands before you touch important things!'" Hermione imitated. "Dark Lord Ehwaz! Dark Lord Horse!"

That one caught the Dark Lord Ehwaz off-guard. "What?" he asked, lowering his wand a fraction.

Hermione (of course) instantly stopped laughing and assumed her "I know everything" pose. "Ehwaz is a rune translated to mean horse. It is often confused with Eihwaz, which means yew, which of course is the most powerful tree, magically, in the world. Therefore, Eihwaz is construed as power, as well."

The Dark Lord Ehwaz looked dejected. "Bugger," he said, pulling off the mask to the completely-surprised-and-slightly-horrified looks of his friends. "I fucked up."

Ron never tried to gain attention by becoming a Dark Lord again.

The next time, he decided to prance around the Common Room in a hot pink thong.

Later that night, Ron found out the hard way that Seamus Finnigan's girlfriends were only a front.


	8. Scarring Photography

**Scarring Photography**

_A/N: This one JUST happened. I swear. I take no responsibility for any emotional or mental scarring that takes place due to the out-of-favor pairing below. That said, R&R!_

Colin Creevy loved taking pictures.

Ever since he came to Hogwarts, he'd pretty much had a camera stuck in his hands. He didn't mind the teasing—it had saved his life once, who could say it wouldn't again?

One day, he noticed something very odd going on in Hogwarts. People were showing up to classes nearly late, red-faced, with slightly wrinkled clothing. Not knowing any better—the poor kid was only a second year, after all—Colin decided to do a little bit of investigating to see what was causing the Red-Faced Rumplies, as he'd started thinking of it(Luna would have proudly declared him her hero, had he said that in her hearing).

That night after dinner, Colin snuck around the various floors and corridors, on the lookout for an odd-looking monster or more "infected" people, his camera very close to his eyes should another giant yellow-eyed snake pop up.

A loud rattle and a curse, followed by curious shushing and giggling, caught him off-guard. Colin whirled around with the camera up to his face, his eyes squeezed nearly shut in apprehension.

There was no snake—only a broom closet door.

His heart thumping painfully fast, Colin wrenched the door open wide and unintentionally snapped a few pictures, his fumbling fingers continually depressing the shutter button.

A red-faced, disheveled Draco Malfoy shot a stinging hex straight into Colin's face before slamming the door shut again, an odd squelching noise sounding a moment later.

Eyes watering and face swollen, Colin abandoned his search for the night and hurried to Madam Pomfrey's to set himself right.

While in the hospital wing, Colin wondered why Draco Malfoy, of all people, would hide in a broom closet. He was _obviously_ playing Hide-and-Seek, Colin thought, but there were plenty of unused classrooms he could have hidden in. Maybe Malfoy didn't know about those? Satisfied with his reasoning, Colin kept searching.

Two weeks later Colin summoned up the courage to try again to find the source of the Red-Faced Rumplies, and he began searching the rarely-used second floor for clues. Since the second floor classrooms were hardly used, some of the doors and walls had holes in them no one ever bothered to repair. Colin decided to stay on the safe side and use the holes to peek into the rooms, rather than risk another stinging hex if he found Malfoy in his hiding spot again.

A sudden rustle and muffled laughter caused him to stop and listen carefully. He tiptoed in the direction of the noise, stopping at a dusty door with several small knotholes in it. Slowly Colin crouched down, camera at the ready in case a giant snake was inside (he tended to have recurring nightmares about the attack, poor thing). He peeked inside and saw crumpled teachers' robes on the floor.

Colin gasped softly—the Red-Faced Rumplies must be attacking the teachers, too! Colin almost rushed in to try and save the person inside, but fear of another attack stayed his hand. He decided to peek into a different knothole and see what was going on inside before rushing into anything—after all, he might need to call another teacher instead to deal with the now-very-real threat of the Red-Faced Rumplies.

This time he saw two pairs of legs entwined on a school desk, and Colin covered his mouth in horror as he realized that the precarious way the desk was shaking could only mean one thing—the teacher inside was being attacked by a human-looking Red-Faced Rumply!

His Gryffindor courage swelled, and he decided he would have to try and save the professor himself, before the sneaky creature could get away.

'Maybe they don't like light—I'll use the flash on my camera to drive it away! Maybe I can get an Order of Merlin and be famous, just like Harry Potter!' he thought to himself. Gripping the camera tightly, Colin forced the sticking door open and ran in, his finger continually pressing the shutter button so that the dark room seemed to be lit with a strobe light.

"Merlin! Bloody hell!" swore a familiar voice. Two hands reached out in the midst of the confusion and tried to rip the camera away from Colin. Terrified, Colin wet his pants and ran, the camera protectively clutched in his arms.

He reached the classroom on the sixth floor he always used to develop his pictures and rushed inside, slamming the door shut and casting several locking charms on it, hoping that layering the same spell increased its effect.

He cleaned himself up and wiped the tears from his eyes, thanking Merlin it hadn't been another snake. The camera's button was rigid despite his efforts to take another picture (it was a compulsive disorder, honest!), letting him know the roll of film was finished.

Eagerly he decided to go ahead and develop the pictures and find out what the Red-Faced Rumplies looked like, so he could tell a teacher he'd found one. He dimmed the lights, leaving only a red bulb on, and dropped the roll of film into a specialized potion.

An hour later, Colin pulled the film out and tapped it four times with his wand. A stack of moving photos appeared on his left, and he clipped the film to a clothesline to let it dry and picked up the stack of pictures with trembling hands.

He skipped over the mundane ones impatiently, coming to the broom closet picture. His naïve eyes bugged out of his head as, over and over, photo-Malfoy turned and snarled, trying to tug the open door shut. Behind him Colin saw a sixth-year Muggle-born girl with an arm covering her bare chest.

He blinked furiously, and looked again.

Draco Malfoy! Snogging a Muggle-born! Colin eyed the girl's chest, never having seen anything like it, and then set aside the picture to try and sell to the highest-bidding gossip magazine.

Trembling slightly, he turned to look at the next few photos of the second-floor incident, and gagged before fainting dead away.

It was the headmaster and headmistress going at it in the unused classroom.

The Red-Faced Rumplies weren't malicious creatures after all—they were snogging students and (shudder) teachers.

Once he graduated, Colin became a famous paparazzi photographer and notorious peeping Tom, making a name for himself with the two scandalous pictures he had managed to get while he was a student at Hogwarts.

Colin finally got over the emotional scarring that took place upon seeing the latter photos, but it gave him hope—if Albus Dumbledore could still get it on at his old age, then so would he!


	9. JERRY! JERRY!

**Jerry! Jerry!**

_A/N: It's been awhile, I know! School's gotten in the way... all that kind of stuff. Anyway, R&R! If you have any spoof ideas, let me know!_

The stage lights were bright, forcing Harry to blink dumbly before realizing he could simply shield his eyes instead of enduring the blinding whiteness. He shifted uncomfortably in the horridly patterned seat, his eyes gazing out at the crowd before him. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach and his mouth went dry.

"And we're live, in three, two…" A woman counted to one silently and pointed to an older man sitting to Harry's right, and he noticed a red light appear abovea big, scary-looking black thing.

"Annnd, it's time for JERRY SPRINGER!" a booming voice sounded, making Harry jump and look around wildly.

An energetic older man waved to the cheering crowd for a moment before taking a seat close to Harry and smiling at him kindly, a microphone in one hand and a stack of cards in another.

"Everyone, this brave young man sitting next to me is Harry Potter," the man said, and the audience clapped politely. "Today on Jerry Springer our topic is, 'You Ruined My Life… I Want It Back!'" The audience cheered.

Harry smiled uncertainly and fidgeted.

"Let's see what Harry had to say before the show," Jerry said, turning his attention to the screen behind him.

Harry appeared on the screen, fidgeting much like he was now. "Well, there was a prophecy stating I wsas destined to kill Voldemort, and he killed my parents when I was one and tried to kill me, but the curse rebounded and nearly killed him instead. Since I went to Hogwarts at 11, he's tried once a year like clockwork to kill me in some form or fashion. I can't have a normal life until he's dead!"

"Cry!" said a harsh stage whisper that sounds a lot like Ron.

Screen-Harry stared oddly at something out of sight of the camera. A leg appeared briefly onscreen and Harry yelped, shedding a single tear before the screen went black.

The crowd "aww"ed in response, making Harry shift uncomfortably in his seat.

"And now, let's bring Mr. Voldemort out!" Jerry announced. Harry leapt to his feet, looking around wildly as the crowd hissed and booed. Voldemort slunk out of the side of the stage and swept over to the chair nearest Harry, scowling at the audience.

"You don't know me! You don't know me! Shut the fuck up!" he hissed.

"Take yo' snake-lookin' ass back to the plastic surgeon and get yo' nose fixed, Michael Jackson!" someone in the audience yelled back.

"OLD SNAKE FACE! OLD SNAKE FACE! OLD SNAKE FACE!" the audience chanted, their faces twisted into murderous expressions. To Harry's surprise, Voldemort merely flipped them the bird and threw himself into the chair clumsily, crossing his arms over his chest and rearranging his robes to over his scabby-looking gray skin.

"Mr. Voldemort, care to explain what you were doing?" Jerry asked once the audience calmed down.

Voldemort harrumphed and looked at the Muggle haughtily. "I was _trying_ to secure my immortality, thankyouverymuch! What do I care if some snot-nosed little 'celebrity' didn't live life in the lap of luxury?" he sneered.

Harry jumped to his feet again(or, more accurately, he just jumped, since he hadn't sat down again), angrily pointing a finger at the out-of-character Dark Lord sitting primly beside him. "YOU'RE THE REASON MY LIFE IS A COMPLETE AND TOTAL MESS! I GREW UP WITHOUT LOVE! WITHOUT JUST _AFFECTION_! AND THE MINUTE I FIND IT WITH MY GODFATHER, BECAUSE OF YOU HE'S _DEAD_!" Harry shouted.

A deathly silence blanketed the audience.

Lord Voldemort snorted.

"Oh, great, here we go again… Angsty-Half-Blood-Prince Harry." Voldemort sighed and massaged his temples resignedly. "Go on, keep shouting." He stuck a hand into his robe pocket and pulled a vial of Headache Draft, downing it and motioning to Harry to continue.

Harry, discomfited, awkwardly sat down. Now that Voldemort wasn't fighting back, yelling wasn't fun anymore. "You suck! You slimy snake bastard!" he shot back, more out of reflex than anything else.

One of the audience members stood up and took a microphone. "Yo, uh, I just wanna say sumthin' to Snake-Face here… Man, why you be trippin'? He jus' a kid, dawg! 'Choo got some probs or sumthin'? Ain't you man enough to fight fair?" the guy said, pulling his sagging jeans up over his ass before they fell to the ground.

"How dare you speak so vulgarly to me?!? AVADA KEDAVRA!" Voldemort snapped, jabbing his wand at the man. The audience panicked, and rushed the stage after the man dropped dead, since was the only way they could really go.

Harry and Jerry Springer managed to jump out of the frightened crowd's way just in time, but Voldemort didn't. The crowd surged over him screaming wildly, although Harry could almost swear the high-pitched squeal he was hearing above the rest of the voices was Voldemort's. He sniggered as a scaly gray hand stuck up out of the crowd, grasping at nothing before disappearing again.

"MUGGLES! NOOOOOOO!!!!" Voldemort wailed. The crowd finally pushed its way out of the studio, leaving a dead Voldemort behind, his face a frozen mask of terror and repulsion.

"Well look at that," Dumbledore said, conveniently popping out of nowhere. "Muggles were his downfall. Good work, Harry," he said, disappearing again.

Jerry Springer sat down heavily, pulling his glasses off to wipe his face. "I gotta get a new job," he murmured to himself.

Harry simply shrugged and left the studio. At least Voldemort was finally dead, and maybe he could live a normal life. He skipped out whistling, leaving a very confused TV crew behind.


End file.
